


Sangramor

by cre8tivemynd



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24219607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cre8tivemynd/pseuds/cre8tivemynd
Summary: “Please!” Jaskier screamed in between sobbing. “Please, we have coin! Let us in!”Geralt never needed luxury in his accommodations. He was fine with a simple room when he could afford it and the forest floor when he couldn’t. But if Jaskier’s advertisement of their coin could not persuade an innkeeper or even tempt a robber, then their problem was much bigger than shelter quality. They couldn’t access shelter at all.---What's the difference between a blood lustful creature and regular village folk? You already know the creature's intentions.*Not set in any actual point in the show's plot line. Kinda of a Geralt and Jaskier side quest adventure episode.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Sangramor

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fan-fiction, so I just hope someone out there enjoys reading it. Please leave comments to let me know what you think.

“But what’s the point of it all? Wine is closest thing humans have to nectar of the gods and grapes are quite good by themselves, so what’s the point of raisins? They’re not even the byproduct of grapes used to make wine, so why use perfectly good grapes to create what is undoublty an inferior product when you could spend less time and effort – “

“Stop running your mouth about raisins and maybe you won’t trip over dead bodies.”

“Right, yes, well but you have to agree Geralt, it would make more since to either leave them as grapes or just juice them into wine, right?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m glad you agree with me! But since humans are not grapes, why wouldn’t this monster leave them at least a little alive so they could produce more blood and thus have a renewable supply to drink?”

“Because creatures don’t care about renewable resources and have no concept or ‘a little alive’. Now the fuck shut up. We need to make it to town by nightfall.”  
Geralt grabbed Jaskier by his arm to make him walk faster. 

They didn’t have time to admire this creature’s work or question its methods. Jaskier may have never seen a fully grown man with skin pale as a blank canvas with no bloodpaint to color him alive, his veins yanked outside of his body like faulty cassette tape then discarded and balled up like yarn, and fully exsanguinated; blood sucked and vacuumed to the point his body had collapsed and wrinkled upon itself like a raisin in the sun, but Geralt had. 

And he knew that Sangramors hunted at night.  
\---  
The pair reached the town on the cusp of dusk. 

Jaskier wanted food and drink. Geralt was intentionally built for keeping strong during arduous journey, while Jaskier tasked himself with keeping them in high spirits during said journey. Jaskier was crafted for barroom and the ballroom and the bedroom. His delicacy required more maintenance. 

Geralt wanted information about how such a creature came to be in a town in the first place. Sangramors were usually in valleys of the countryside, imprisoned by virtue of their inability to climb well. A Sangramor in a populated town would be extremely dangerous and seemed to be the work of some calculated plot. Geralt didn’t want to get involved in such sinister politics of course, but knowledge was power, and there was no such thing as too much of it when dealing with monsters, whether they be creature or human. 

They both needed shelter. Immediately. The sun was making its retirement for the night, and when the moon arose, so would this monster. Sangramors weren’t particularly strong, but they were fast; faster than the eyes of any human, elf, mage, or witcher. So, while a simple yet sturdy shelter with boarded windows and doors could keep a person safe, the comforts of a common house were hospitable for only so long. Any trip to the outhouse, to check on the horses, regather the firewood, or simply a misjudge of the time could end in a bloodless death. 

Reaching the town gave the pair no refuge.

The marketplace was empty. Abandonment had left the food stands starving. Any wares, supplies, or sellers had made themselves scarce. The children’s puppet theater had its curtains drawn. There was no gossiping, no fighting, no flirting; nothing left of human sociality.

The front steps of the tavern were dry. No ale being spilt on the way in or out, no drunkard pissing, no lightweight vomiting. The usual cheers and songs were silent. The most devout alcoholics had abandoned their temple. 

No inns were open; all their rooms had been booked and boarded up. All the stables were stocked with cattle and their supplies then secured to deter human thieves and runaway horses. Even the porchlight of the whorehouse had abandoned its post and no longer welcomed visitors. 

Fear of death had killed the life of the town. And Geralt and Jaskier were completely alone and exposed as dusk approached.  
\---  
Geralt had no fucking clue what to do. The next town was too far, the night was too close, and Jaskier was too loud for him to process anything else. 

“Please!” Jaskier screamed in between sobbing. “Please, we have coin! Let us in!”

Geralt never needed luxury in his accommodations. He was fine with a simple room when he could afford it and the forest floor when he couldn’t. But if Jaskier’s advertisement of their coin could not persuade an innkeeper or even tempt a robber, then their problem was much bigger than shelter quality. They couldn’t access shelter at all. 

“Geralt! Geralt please, what do we do?” Jaskier cried. 

Jaskier always cried for Geralt when there was a problem that couldn’t be solved with a song or shagging some guy’s wife. What Jaskier failed to realize was that great deal of their problems were caused by his songs or shagging some guy’s wife. Geralt was one of the few without a god complex and didn’t want one, but just because Jaskier practically prayed to him during any hardship did not mean Geralt wanted to be his constant savior. 

“First, you shut the fuck up. Second, you make yourself useful. Go knock on some doors, tell them you’re a weary traveler, offer up some coin, I don’t care. Third, don’t offer to sing and don’t be picky. We don’t need luxury, just a place that’ll cover us. I’ll go see if any shelters around are abandoned.” 

“Excuse me!” Jaskier gasped. “You’d have me go door to door like some kind of pre-pubescent cookie merchant while you waste time scavenging for a squatter’s cave when there are two very convincing swords and dozens of incredibly capable muscles upon your person?”

“I’m not breaking into someone’s house, Jaskier”

“Oh, it doesn’t have to be a house! Pick the tavern, or a shop, you could even swap out one of these sheltered cows to house ourselves and Roach since you’re so charmed by simplicity. We leave them some coin in the morning and no harm, no foul.” 

Geralt gave the plan no criticism with words, but his feet walking away was most telling. 

“Aren’t you the one who stressed the time constraint of our situation, Geralt, yet you want solve it in the most time consumable way possible!”

“If you had spent less time whining to me and done what I had told you, someone would’ve offered us lodging by now.”

“If you would spend less time avoiding the obvious answer to our problem, we could be settled in our chosen lodging by now safe from the BLOOD SUCKING MONSTER!” 

Geralt yanked Jaskier’s shirt to his face. His yellow eyes squinted in an attempt to control of his emotions while Jaskier’s blue ones were wide and exposed his fear and surprise. 

“We avoid this monster, and I have to become the new one. I’m the big, scary, mutant witcher breaking into people’s dwellings and demanding they house us. You’re the small, funny lute-man who just gets to travel along. Don’t bitch to me about the obvious choice when you don’t deal with the obvious consequences. You don’t deal with mobs and pitchforks or gangs with swords or the same people you rescued spitting in your face. Your obvious choice is whatever saves your skittish ass the fastest; mine is avoiding the scorn of the people, because that’s a lot more to overcome than overpowering a creature.” 

Jaskier smoothed out his clothes as he was released. His eyes were now looking down and away from Geralt and the red in his face brightened, the source no longer from fear but now selfish embarrassment. 

“You’re right, Geralt.” He said, grabbing his lute and slowly stepping the opposite direction.

“I shouldn’t rely on you to make the obvious choices for us when I can do it myself,”. Geralt rolled his eyes as Jaskier grabbed a stray pipe of the ground and hit it against his hands.

“And maybe with a smile and explanation of more than three words, I can avoid the people’s hatred as well.” Jaskier smiled, proud of his insensitive jab, and skipped in the direction of the houses.  
\---  
Geralt had no patience to save such a dumbass from himself. He didn’t put up with spoiled monarchs, conceited mages, or temperamental creatures. An arrogant bard could join the list.  
He kept walking towards the town’s outskirts, back to his original plan to see which places might’ve been abandoned. 

There wasn’t much to be seen outside of the center of the town. Upon reaching a higher vantage point, Geralt could see the path they rode into town on the south side, and the path out of town on the opposite side. Both paths also leading into and out of a dense forest. Geralt saw circles. The roads, they were circular. At the center was the market square he had just been at and all the surrounding houses and shops and other town necessities fell into alignment with the concentric circular grid leaning north. This place looked organized. Too organized. Where were the ruins? Where were the old plots of land before this circular grid was built? Where were the off beaten paths that the town outcast might take? Between the elements and invaders and common human conflict, it just didn’t make sense to Geralt that a town could be this well planned and show no signs of constant tearing down and rebuilding. Especially one with a Sangramor problem. 

Geralt lowered himself to ground level and began to make his way back to center to find Jaskier. This place gave him an unnatural feeling and he didn’t want to house with any of its inhabitants whether they were friendly or not. They could find a tall tree to climb and lay there for the night. It’d be uncomfortable; Jaskier would have to be tied to the tree to keep him from falling and Geralt would have to stay folded on the small branches. But they could moan and groan about their aches on the morning ride out of town. 

Geralt was two roads away from the center when he heard Jaskier’s moaning. A few steps later and he was in sight of Jaskier’s bloodied body, broken lute, and leg clutched in pain. 

“What the fuck happened!” yelled Geralt as he ran to grab his friend. He didn’t always like having Jaskier around, and he was easily annoyed by hearing him talk or sing or breathe, but like hell if Geralt was going to leave him to die at the hands of a vicious creature in a cookie-cutter town. 

“Fell. Hard. Couldn’t climb with hands and lute and pipe at the same time.”, moaned Jaskier in agony. 

Geralt scooped him up and started the first aid. He had to tend to Jaskier’s leg before attempting his tree idea. Geralt would have to carry and basically drag Jaskier all the way there and up, which meant ample opportunity for infection if his leg encountered anything it shouldn’t on the tree’s surface. 

Geralt worked as quickly as could while giving Jaskier reassurance he would survive and accepting his tearful apologies. The apologies were nice, at first, but what Geralt really needed was Jaskier’s eyes to be sharp and watch as hard as he could for the Sangramor. The night was fully upon them now as Geralt applied disinfectant to Jaskier’s leg, and he still needed to be bandaged. 

Geralt’s eyes scanned up, then down to work. Up and behind, then back down again. It was on the third ocular patrol that he saw it. The creature was about 3 circle roads to the north and trying to pry open a house that must’ve been minimally secured. The Sangramor hadn’t seen Geralt and Jaskier yet, but if it did it would gladly switch gears to pursue more vulnerable prey.  
\---  
Geralt covered Jaskier’s mouth and hoisted him over his shoulder, pointing towards the monster in sight so Jaskier could understand the gravity of their situation. He became fearfully aware of how loud his heavy, leather boots were. Of course, nature never paired the traits fast and quiet together unless it was for a monster. Here, in the face of necessity and danger, Geralt begged for such a duo, but was only given the options of fast and loud or slow and quiet. With the Sangramor as the predator, the latter was obvious choice. 

They made it to the town square without incident and were now out of sight of the Sangramor. Which also meant they couldn’t see it. The way to the forest now seemed farther and more daunting than before. Geralt was constantly scanning as he crept around the market square. 

His eyes saw darkness and the distance to safety. 

His ears heard his own and Jaskier’s breathing, beats among the silence. 

His feet felt the glass bottle, a second earlier than his brain did, and it crushed beneath his feet. 

His body felt the rush of wind. It was coming. Geralt couldn’t see it, and if he were to it’d be too late. He couldn’t wait for sight. Geralt had to act now. 

“The well”, Jaskier pointed out. It was close enough for them and would be too narrow for the Sangramor. 

Geralt and Jaskier lowered themselves into the well holding the bucket. The bucket’s rusty pulley had squeaked about a yard into their descent, and Geralt’s shoulder had been slashed open half a foot later. 

The Sangramor was greedy and hungry and in a frenzy over seeing such precious blood spill. Its prey was descending quickly, but if it could just squeeze a bit further or reach a bit longer into this man-made water hole, it could be satiated. It turned its huge body, trying out various angles to fit inside. Speed wouldn’t work in the traditional way, but if it could dive into the well fast enough, the bricks could crack under pressure. 

The bricks were cracking, and the well was shaking. Geralt and Jaskier were as far down as they could be.

Geralt was staring into the face of a monster he never thought he’d live to see up close as it darted in and out of the well. Water up to his chest, he held a sword in one hand to fight, but the narrowness of well limited his movement.

Jaskier faced away, scared shitless of a monster he never thought could exist. The water, that he most assuredly contaminated, was weighing him down, and his injured leg limited his mobility. 

“Why won’t it give up? Shouldn’t it find someone else to eat before sunrise burns it back to hell?” Jaskier yelled.

“The sun doesn’t burn it. It’s just nocturnal. But my blood’s already dripping so it’ll stay here until it gets some.” Geralt answered. 

Burn. No, the sun may not burn it, but Sangramors were not flame resistant. 

“Reach into my pack” Geralt commanded, “see if you can find any fire starters and alcohol”

Jaskier did as he was told. Their coordinated effort yielded matches and an old scotch they stole from a bar fight. Geralt took them and explained the plan three short yet precise times to make sure Jaskier understood. 

Bricks began to fall into the well. The Sangramor took quick advantage of the new space and those new few inches made a difference in reaching its target. It was able to stab the smaller human this time and every drop of blood was delicious. If it redoubled its efforts, it could have them both in no time. 

Jaskier clutched his shoulder in pain, but he nodded yes that he was ready for the plan. He was in position with water right below his mouth and Geralt posed ready with one tool in his hand and the other in his mouth. 

3…2…1

Jaskier ducked down and Geralt rose up. He spit the alcohol angled upwards toward the flame and the monster. The flame blossomed into a fire that now raged and spread on the face of the Sangramor. Geralt repeated his assault twice more before letting Jaskier come up for air and then retreating back underwater together. 

It burned. And it couldn’t get rid of the burning. Nothing should be that hot and that scorching that it prevented it from achieving its goal. But it was. The Sangramor abandoned the human water hole where the fire came from. It needed to find its own water, to stop the burning, and once it had healed it would return. Blood it had shed would be blood it would drink. That was the Sangramor’s instincts.  
\---  
Geralt and Jaskier resurfaced gasping for air. Their slit shoulders burned, and crammed bodies were sore, but they were alive. They had faced a Sangramor and lived. Jaskier was already happy to sing about this adventure once they got out of this well. However that would happen. 

Jaskier wanted to wait until morning. Mid-morning when it was clear and bright and very obviously not the nighttime. He wanted no risk of the monster coming back that night to finish the job.

Geralt wanted to leave now. This was the best time because they knew the creature was tending to its injuries and they had more matches and booze to combat it if need be. If the villagers found them funking up their well, they’d have another battle on their hands, and he didn’t want to fight them the same way he had the Sangramor. 

They argued of course. Harsh whispers, mean grunts, and rolled eyes. Eventually they chose to split up. Geralt would leave now and get the hell out of dodge. Jaskier would wait it out and have the townspeople help him in the morning. Whoever made it out alive, would meet up in the next town’s tavern by noon. If you were there alone by three-o-clock, presume the other dead and move on. 

Geralt pulled the rope taunt in preparation to climb. He hoisted himself up once and came crashing down instantly with the remainder of the pulley. 

Jaskier was a laughing idiot. It was the monster that had compromised the integrity of the bucket pulley, not Geralt’s weight. This was ridiculous. How was anybody supposed to get them out of the well if the its whole system had just collapsed? 

Now Jaskier was no longer laughing. Just sulking and whining about how it was always something and the danger never ended. He just wanted cool songs and a cool friend. Woe is him; woe is them; woe is fucking destiny. 

Until a head popped over the well. It was a human head Jaskier realized after screaming. Wait, was it attached to a live human or was that monster using the well as its human waste bin? Oh, it was alive, and it also had a hand that waved to them. Geralt never ceased to be suspicious and didn’t want to engage, but Jaskier waved back. They were human. They could help them. 

The very alive, very friendly human used a new pulley to help Jaskier and Geralt out of the well. While Geralt merely grunted his thank you, Jaskier practically sang his. The stranger, laughing at the sight of their polarity, offered them a room for the night so they could look for Geralt’s, not their, horse in the morning. Jaskier graciously accepted. Geralt accepted and kept his reservations to himself. Did he have questions? Yes. Was he going to interrogate his way out of shelter for the night? No. Was he going to leave this suspect town without Roach? Fuck no. He held his tongue and would deal with it tomorrow. 

The three of them reached the house the stranger laid claim to. It wasn’t overly ornate or particularly special, just slightly more designed and a bit bigger than the others. 

“Make yourselves at home and I’ll be right up the hall to the left.” The stranger explained. “You two have been through nothing I’ve ever seen before, so let me know if you need anything, I’ll be more than happy to provide it.”

“Your name would be a start.” said Geralt. 

“Oh right, of course.” said the stranger with mild surprise. 

“I’m Seilan. Nice to meet you, Geralt of Rivia.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fan-fiction, so I just hope someone out there enjoys reading it. Please leave comments to let me know what you think.


End file.
